


Greener Pastures

by Edgedads76 (canttakethecanon)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Chronic Pain, Domestic!AU to a point, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Relationships, Gabe will be along shortly with two wee ones in tow, Jack is a man trying not to die of boredom, M/M, More characters to be added, Multi, Organized Crime, Slow Burn, Witness Protection!AU, implied PTSD, or kill out of anger, some characters are children
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 02:53:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9472340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canttakethecanon/pseuds/Edgedads76
Summary: ~{THIS STORY IS ON PERMENANT HIATUS}~Jack Morrison is a retired homicide detective with a whole lot of nothing going on. Luckily, old debts and older cases have a funny way of ruining all that peace and quiet he never wanted.





	1. Phone calls and favors

**Author's Note:**

> ~{THIS STORY IS ON PERMANENT HIATUS}~
> 
> Well here we go. First thing I've written in over a year. Properly written. Here's hoping it can be the real outlet I need for this ridiculous ship. A really big shoutout to my Beta readers; My wonderful girlfriend Steph and my dear friend Hannah. You're both invaluable and are the biggest reasons this story is happening. Thank you. 
> 
> All feedback is appreciated, and come visit me on tumblr! Edgedads76.tumblr.com

If anyone had been around to ask, Jack probably would admit he knew today felt _different._

Nothing obvious, of course. Just a feeling.

He woke up the same as always; on the couch, Winston snoring loudly on the floor beside him drooling all over the rug. TV still on and muted like it always was when he fell asleep downstairs. Dawn was nowhere near ready to creep in through the window, leaving the tv to light up the room. At some point in his sleep he’d pulled the quilt off the back of the couch and bundled up. As always, he managed to leave his feet out in the cold. 

Jack didn’t move at first. He knew moving would bring his senses back enough to tell him he was stiff and in pain. Staring at the ceiling was a much more appealing prospect. Mornings tended to be peaceful in this way. He was waking up just enough to register his feet being cold and Winston out performing his truck with rumbling snores. Everything else was fuzzy. Pleasantly so.

But one good long intake of air and it blew away like dandelion spores.

With the aches and pains back with a vengeance, so came Jack’s memory of the day before. He’d had a chip on his shoulder yesterday; barking at the horses, being generally heavy handed with his work and most likely pulled something trying to work it out of his system on the punching bag in the basement. All over what?

**~**

_“ You’re anxious.”_

_“ Not really. I got no worries left.”_

_“ Not worried, Jack. Anxious. Antsy. High strung.”_

_“ Maybe.”_

**~**

_Oh._

Yesterday had been counseling day. Jack’d driven out to Angela’s office in Indianapolis to talk about his _feelings._ No wonder he’d been in a bad mood… He shifted a bit under the quilt, a crick in his neck making itself known, along with the angry muscle in his forearm. Rolling his shoulders brought little relief.

**~**

_“ Have you been exercising like we talked about?”_

_“ Mhm.”_

_“ And what about the garden?”_

_“ It’s coming along.”_

_“ But you’re still antsy.”_

_“ I guess.”_

_“ You miss work.”_

_“ … No.”_

_“ Not all of it. Just the busy part?”_

_“ …”_

**~**

Jack laid there until his bladder joined the fray, the groan he pulled out of himself well deserved after his behavior yesterday.

“ God I’m _old._..” He swung his legs off the couch, mindful as always of the great furball taking up the majority of the floor. Winston snorted and raised his head to look at Jack accusingly. “ Yeah yeah, go back to sleep.” He grumbled some more as the giant dog rolled over a bit to show his belly for rubs. Jack only patted him once before reaching over for the table lamp. The tv still wasn’t enough light for him. His sight just wasn’t what it used to be.

_None of him was, really._

**~**

_“ Have you tried getting another job? Just to fill the time. Something local?”_

_“ Town’s a bit small to be hiring, and I don’t need the work.”_

_“ But it doesn’t feel that way?”_

_“ Maybe.”_

_“ Maybe…”_

**~**

With a grunt and few pops, he stretched and got himself up. Winston rolled back over on his side, deflating. He was snoring by the time Jack got to the hall, though Jack certainly gave him time. He practically hobbled around in the morning with how his back was. Sleeping on the couch probably didn’t help, but… well, that’s the way it was.

Washing his hands, he took a look at himself in the mirror.  
  
A tired old man stared back at him. Receding hairline, almost all the blonde giving way to white on his head. Salt and pepper five o’clock shadow. The two scars running diagonally down his face were the centerpieces he had the hardest time ignoring in the morning. A shave was in order, but that could wait.  
  
It’s not like he was expecting company.  
  
He splashed his face with cold water and dug around the medicine cabinet for his deodorant. 

* * *

Winston was waiting for him when he opened the bathroom door, sitting patiently as ever while Jack did his business.

“ Your turn. Lets go.” The fluffy mutt could absolutely open the front door himself if he wanted to, but he waited for Jack every morning. It was hard wired in to him to be mindful of Jack being behind closed doors. Such was the nature of service dogs, retired or not.

Jack opened the door for him and Winston trotted out and down the porch steps to sniff around for a suitable spot to pee.   
  
The morning air was brisk; a welcome change. The summer heat during the day was strangling with the humidity. Now it was just a little misty and cool. Winston settled on the mailbox post before lumbering back to Jack. He didn’t come inside, circling twice and laying out on the porch instead. “ Alright, I’ll be back in a minute.” He said to the lazy dog, going back inside to get the coffee perking.

**~**

_“ How about the house? You talked about renovating it some time ago. Have you started?”_

_“ Not yet. Been trying to get settled.”_

_“ Which you aren’t?”_

_“ Not yet…”_

_“ Or are you not tired enough yet?”_

_“ …”_

**~**

Morning coffee was always had out on the porch so he could wait patiently for dawn to break. There wasn’t anything new he had to do today. The usual chores: Feed and water the animals. Let them out for the day. Eat breakfast at some point. Maybe do a load of laundry. His quilt could certainly use an airing out, but then it wasn’t a pressing issue. None of it really was… _Ever._

Winston stretched lazily just as the sun started to peak out over the fields.

**~**

_“ Maybe you should try to start up something on the house. Just one room. One you don’t use too much so it’s not in the way.”_

_“ … And that’ll help?”_

_“ You tell me, Jack.”_

**~**

“ You tell me, _Jack_ …” He murmured over the rim of his cup, blinking as the warm light hit his eyes. Angela did that to him. Regularly. Asked him for answers when he came to her for them. It always aggravated him, but also gave him something to think about when he’d _“got over himself”_ , as she put it.  
  
He emptied his cup too fast to really get pensive, but it was just as well. He had chores to do. Winston didn’t follow, knowing full well now was Jack’s time to move around without the chance of tripping over 130lbs of fuzz.

Work went by quick enough. Jack hung out the quilt on the old clothesline. The horses were fed and let out into the pasture. Sandy, the new colt, only needed a little coaxing to drink her formula and join them, an improvement he couldn’t help but feel a little warmth over. The chickens fussed at his pants legs while he fed them, three eggs ready for him to take from their nests. The only real hitch had been moving the hay bales into the stalls in the barn. The muscle in his arm complained loudly and he’d gotten a bad case of the shakes by the time he came inside for breakfast.

With snoring as the soundtrack, Jack ate quickly and dealt with his morning meds. Taking anything regularly irritated Jack to no end, but then he also couldn’t stand slowing down because of a pulled muscle or dizziness. So blood pressure pills and tylenol it was. Antacids too, if only to keep the ulcer from bleeding again. _Boy had that been fun…_  
  
By the time Jack finished breakfast, Winston was up and lumbering off to sit at the front door expectantly. He didn’t rush to finish his coffee, or move the dishes to the sink. Rushing up the steps before his morning run was basically impossible, but Winston didn’t seem to mind. Patience the dog had in spades.  
  
… _Except_ at dinner time. 

The second floor hall was as eerily silent as ever, the round window at the end letting in the creeping dawn. All the rooms were open and the slightest breeze wafted through, stirring dust particles in the sunlight. All of them were set up very similarly. Bed, dresser, floor mirror, cross on the wall. The most defining feature of each room was the different quilts on each bed. His room only broke the mold thanks to the slightly overflowing hamper. The hardwood floors creaked under him as he made his way to the dresser, stripping as he went. The bed was still made. Had been for a week. The cross meant to hang above the dresser had fallen again, disappearing somewhere behind it. Ruefully, he made a mental note to dust when he noticed the fingerprints he made on the cherry wood.

Shorts, t-shirt, sneakers and cell phone. He was back down the steps and out the door before he could even remember to kick his old sweats in the direction of the hamper. 

Running was probably his favorite thing in the morning. Winston’s too, though the dog rarely had to do more than trot leisurely next to him. It was one of the few activities he had where he felt like some of the tension was being dealt with. There was always some tension coiled in him he couldn’t get to release, but running down the old roads past the other farms waking up with the sun eased it just a little.  
  
He’d told Angela as much and she’d encouraged him to exercise more if it was helping. But it wasn’t earth shattering. Not nearly enough to fix… _whatever_ was wrong.

Boredom maybe.

_“ How about the house?”_

The house. It greeted him as warmly as an empty house could when he ran back up the gravel driveway. He supposed it could use some more work. It wasn’t really true, him not having renovated it some already. He’d re-shingled the roof and fixed the plumbing. The barn had been repainted and the porch properly sanded and finished in a nice dark stain to withstand the weather. It’d _needed_ those repairs when he bought it. He just hadn’t done anything really internal. Frivolous… _Personal._

Maybe she was right. Maybe that was something he should do.

“ What about an office?” He asked. Winston didn’t answer, just panting happily as Jack jogged. “ Like a study.” Like Dad had. Sure.

_Why not?_

* * *

So he wasn’t bored now… Or at least he was _busy._

  
The tape measure clinked back into itself, his gloved hands jotting down the numbers on a notepad. Jack decided to turn the empty room off the entryway into a study. A place for his files and a desk… and whatever other crap you put in a study. _Books maybe. Photo albums? A case for his guns might be nice._ More notes were made on those ideas as he navigated between the stacks of boxes.  
  
The room had just been for storage; Mostly the endless boxes of knick knacks his parents had left him. As much as a house buried in brick'a'brack and family photos was a part of his childhood, he never felt the urge to unpack it all. Maybe once when he was drunk he’d opened a box and gone through some random things… It hadn’t been a good experience.

Maybe he _was_ tired. The wrong kind of tired sleeping couldn’t fix… Not that he was any good at sleeping. Not that he wasn’t old enough to be tired for no discernible reason. Old enough to retire, old enough to _be_ tired.   
  
_Or something._

Jack took his notes back to the kitchen and dropped the slowly filling notepad onto the disappearing kitchen table. Catalogs. Pencils and rulers. At least one eraser had escaped to the floor, but the majority were still set out on the various sheets of paper covering the table. All of them had designs, or at least elaborate doodles on them. He planned to redo the wallpaper and build the desk himself. That hideous green and white daisy combo would burn well on the garbage pile, just as soon as he finished sketching out the details on where he wanted the ceiling fan to go in.  
  
What he’d replace the daisies with he wasn’t sure. One of the catalogs had to have a “study” picture. Some overpriced, pretentious setup for men who made triple his life earnings in a month. Glossy and perfect to tell him what an office was supposed to look like. The office his father had he never saw the inside of, just glimpses here and there. That was the point of a study back then- a place where kids weren’t allowed.

Not that he had any kids to keep out.

Heaving a sigh, Jack sank into one of the old wooden chairs around the table. He’d need a good ladder for the next bit of measuring, but that would require some footwork and he wasn’t sure he could deal with civilians today. Not that he wasn’t one. A _civilian_ , that is. Had been for three years. He just hadn’t… really gotten around to _thinking_ that way yet. 

A pencil tapping on paper was the only thing to break the silence.  
****

* * *

An hour or four passed, the house heating up fast under the afternoon sun. Jack took the time to open the windows while he psyched himself up to get in his truck and head to town. He was twenty miles from the nearest town, but that was for the best. Quiet was what he wanted. It was why he moved back here. That, and a few other reasons he was sure Angela could come up with. _For a nominal fee._  
  
With all the downstairs windows opened the breeze blew unhindered, carrying with it the smell of warm grass and wildflowers. There were farms all around his property, but his own land wasn’t tilled for use. Instead it had been fenced off and left to grow up for the horses.

He couldn’t see any of them from the kitchen, but that was normal for this time of day. It was too hot to trot around in the open. They were probably down at the creek, lazing around under the willows and waiting for him to ring the dinner bell. He made a mental note to get down there after he came back, if only to make sure the colt hadn’t caught herself in another ditch. Cute as she was, she wasn’t particularly bright...

_It really is a beautiful place._

The peace was broken by the telephone, his body nearly jumping out of its own skin. For a moment he just stood there, still leaned down on the open windowsill, head whipped around to stare off into the kitchen while the old phone rang. He didn’t even recognize it at first. _No one_ called his home phone. That’s what cell phones were for.

Winston came to the doorway, looking at him. _Asking him_ what he was waiting for.

Or food. He never could tell with that dog.   
  
Dusting invisible dirt off his hands, he left the window to answer the phone.

“ Morrison,” he greeted on the 6th ring, something very bitter clenching in his chest at how easy it was to fall back into professionalism.

 _“ Well hello to you, too.”_ The smooth feminine voice floated through the poor reception like the scent of roses outside the Barickman place down the street. _“ I assumed you’d be chilly **after** you heard my voice.”_

Shock was a good word for Jack’s expression.

 _“ Allô?”_ He sucked in a breath.

“ Amélie. It’s been awhile.” _What the hell are you calling for?_ Was the first question he buried. More popped up like weeds on its grave.

_“ It has. You sound surprised.”_

“ Why shouldn’t I? How did you even get this number?” That was a dumb question, and she affirmed it with her condescending laugh.

_“ Merde," she said, sighing exasperatedly, " retirement has not been kind to your wits, Detective…”_

“ On the record _I don't know you,_ " _On the record_ he didn't know _a lot_ of people, " and I'm not a detective anymore, so I have no reason not to hang up." 

 _“  But then you will not know why I called."_ If there was a physical embodiment of bad omen, it was her, but he had to admit…

“ … Why _have_ you called?” There was a long pause. He could almost see her checking over her nails the way she did every time she knew she had something he wanted. 

_“ I do believe you owe me a favor.”_

Oh yes. This day was very, _very_ different.


	2. An offer he should refuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~{THIS STORY IS ON PERMANENT HIATUS}~   
> Nice hotels were made for ill-advised rendezvous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~{THIS STORY IS ON PERMANENT HIATUS}~ 
> 
> Chapter 2! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support and kind words. Especially you sweet peas stalking my tumblr. As always, big shoutout to my two betas: Steph and Hannah. You're both treasures and I wouldn't be doing this without you.

Jack didn’t sleep that night.  
  
Winston had settled on the couch with him, keeping his head in Jack’s lap so the anxious man could stroke him. He was a smart dog; always had been. He knew when Jack was out of sorts and did his best to support him.

Jack was too busy thinking to acknowledge the baleful, honey brown eyes of the dog staring at him. The phone call had thrown him harder than he would have liked to admit. Especially since he didn’t actually know anything. Amélie never was very informative unless you met her in person.

“ _You know how I feel about phones, Jack.”_  
  
She had sounded so relaxed; as if three years hadn’t come and gone. As if he was still at his desk in the precinct with the chaos of the justice system blaring behind him.

As if he was still Detective Morrison.

Well, he _wasn’t._ He was Jack. Jack was an old man. An old man who took in horses, took his coffee out on the porch, and took his blood pressure medicine with a spoonful of honey.  
  
An old man who _never_ took calls from assassins. Double agents. _Whatever the fuck she calls herself these days..._

But take the call he did, and now he couldn’t sleep.

“ _I will be in Indianapolis next Thursday. There is a lovely cafe in the circle center…”_

Her invitations were always flippant and subtle, every call she ever gave him having the same tone as a courtesy call to a distant relative you couldn’t be paid to care about. It was one of the reasons she was so good in her field. Bullshitting was her specialty.

… _Well, one of her specialties._

The TV was clicked off and Jack gently slid the dog off his lap. He needed some fresh air. Or a drink. He’d decide on the way. A big drinker he never was, but there was always a bottle of whiskey tucked away in the top shelf of his pantry. Come to think of it, he couldn’t really remember how much of it was left.

_Reason enough to go get the bottle down._

* * *

  
The air still held a little residual warmth from the day, even with the sun long since set. The moon had waned down to a sliver, but he didn’t bother with the porch light. The swinging bench was ignored in favor of the porch steps. He could admire the stars better that way.  
  
Barely a shot of whiskey was in his glass, ice tinkling lightly as he sat down. Jack only groaned a little and called that a victory, even if his knees protested a bit. His knees could get over it. This view was worth all the aches and pains. All the work and sweat. Every bitter reason he was out here in the first place.

_And oh how many of those there are..._

He downed his glass and set it down on the step beside him.  
  
“ Stupid.” He grumbled to the night air, no one for miles to hear him. “ Stupid, bitter old man...” And he was. Or he felt like it. Amélie was a bad omen. Nothing she could ever bring into his life was a good thing. It didn’t matter that he owed her. It didn’t matter if he owed her his life ten times over, or the twenty year career he _almost_ could be proud of.

What mattered was the life he had built here. Out in the middle of nowhere. In a house you couldn’t tell was his. With his horses and his dog and his chickens and his _study..._

Something clenched inside him and didn’t let go for the rest of the night.  


* * *

  
It was Wednesday before Jack decided to go.

There were a million reasons why that was a terrible idea, but there were also two _very_ persuasive reasons it was a good one.

Jack _did_ owe Amélie… and _Amélie was a vindictive bitch._ If he didn’t show, the pitiful scraps of his reputation were the _least_ of the things she could destroy, and then she’d still ask him to do whatever it was she wanted him to.

If he hadn’t been clinging so desperately to those logical reasons, he might have been able to admit the _excitement_ was part of it, but denial Jack was good at.  
  
Not that he was going to admit _that_ , either.

Jack didn’t need to pack anything. The duffel in his closet was always ready to go. Whether that was because he was a prepared person, or because he never remembered to unpack after a trip was no one’s business but his own.

Winston judged him harshly from the doorway, watching him drag the bag out and toss it on the bed. Jack ignored him as best as he could while unzipping the top to make sure no rodents had moved in. The flap fell back and he paused. The very first thing he saw was the Chicago PD emblem displayed proudly on the front of a t-shirt.

The bag was zipped back up and thrown into the closet.

“ I’m not going.” Winston couldn’t be happier.

* * *

   
“ I’ll only be gone a few days. ”

The ancient man waved Jack off, patting the large Pinto horse on her muzzle. Ribbon(charmingly named by the school boy she had belonged to) stomped a bit and nosed into the wrinkled hand approvingly.  
  
“ The Missus and I’ll take care of everything. You just worry ‘bout managing yer business.” Jack smiled in spite of the storm raging in his stomach.  
  
“ Thanks, Andy. You got my cell number if anything comes up. Be a good boy, Winston.” He shifted the bag on his shoulder to lean down and pat the dog’s head. Winston just looked at him indignantly. “ Don’t be like that. I’ll be home soon enough.” The accusing stare did nothing to ease Jack’s guilt.

He was doing something _very_ stupid, but he didn’t need a dog to tell him _that._  
  
Andy Barickman, his closest neighbor, was kind enough to watch the farm in his absence. Jack could have gotten away with leaving tomorrow morning and arriving in Indianapolis just before the meeting, but part of him just wanted to get it all over with. He’d gone back and forth on the issue four or five times just that morning. This last wave of confidence may be the last one he’d _get_.

With his bag thrown in the passenger seat, Jack climbed into his aging, brick red truck and set out to make a _huge_ mistake.

Or so he told himself to the tune of Tom Petty over the radio.

* * *

  
The hotel room door swung open soundlessly, making plenty of room in the air for Jack’s grumbling. 

“ $399 for one night my ass-” He just barely stopped himself from slamming the door, bolting it and sliding the security lock in place. Briefly he wondered if one of the chairs from the table would fit propped under the doorknob, but decided against it. Caution and paranoia were two different things.  
  
It’s not like anyone cared where he was.

He dumped his bag on the severely overstuffed bed, wrinkling his nose at the “artsy” geometric patterns on… well _everything._ The jeans and flannel he’d worn for the trip were most certainly unfit for a place like this, but he was too tired to care. The drive out had been a whopping four hours and left him with all the time in the world to feel dread, excitement, uncertainty, and finally, peace with his decision.  
  
The rest of the trip was spent feeling stupid for not sleeping the night before.

The clock on the nightstand read 5:34pm. He probably should get some dinner, but overstuffed as it was, the bed called him more than his stomach. He’d picked this place because it was the only vacant hotel near the cafe. The hotels on the outskirts of town were much more his style. _Small, quiet, cheap._  
  
This place just made him feel like he’d get charged for taking a shower.

Trying to stop the complaining, Jack unzipped his bag and dug around for the closest thing to a security blanket he’d brought. After all, he was back in a major city meeting a dangerous woman. Most likely to do some morally questionable job.

Such excitement called for the proper protection.  
  
His hand touched the leather harness and he paused. Jack hadn’t even _seen_ his chest holster for maybe a year. When he had stopped feeling naked without it was anyone’s guess, but he strongly suspected his last real _scare_ was the last time he’d worn it.

Too tired for trips down memory lane, Jack pulled the harness, complete with gun, free of his bag and started unbuttoning his flannel shirt.  


* * *

  
The first thing Jack noticed upon waking up was how cold he was. The chill was down in his bones, setting off every bit of soreness he could usually ignore. Ironically, his feet were still warm.

It was never this cold in his house. _Did I close up the house?_ He couldn’t remember. Maybe the house was suddenly haunted. _Sure. That makes sense._

With some effort, he rolled from his back to his side, wrapping his arms around himself. The couch was so much softer than he remembered. He was practically sunk into it. That was just fine. It was warmer that way. Part of him hoped Winston would jump up soon to cuddle. _Furball has his uses…_ Pulling his legs up told him why his feet weren’t cold; He still had his shoes on.

" Detective Morrison.” Jack hummed, sniffing a bit. “ Are you awake yet?” He must have left the TV on again. Why he hadn’t muted it like always was anyone’s guess. _God,_ he was tired… “ Detective-”

" It's Jack.” he murmured automatically, sitting up and feeling around for the remote.

It was then he realized he was not on his couch.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Jack blinked at the darkness. This was not his living room. Or his bedroom. It wasn’t even his _house._  
  
“ _Jack_ does not have the same ring to it. It sounds so… casual.” The TV was definitely not on. Panic welled up in his chest, but he squashed it down, reaching for the holster at his chest. “ Not nearly as distinguished as _Detective Morrison._ ”

His gun was gone.

Jack barely had time to feel around his own chest in disbelief before a light clicked on, blinding him for a moment.  
  
“ Relax, Jack. There isn’t anyone for you to shoot.” Blinking rapidly to chase away the spots, Jack finally saw who was talking to him. Amélie sat at the table across from him, toying idly with his gun in her carefully manicured hands. She was stunning as ever, though that may be in part to the fact he didn’t expect her to be in his room.

“ What the hell are you doing here?” That was one in an incredibly long list of questions. _How did you get in? How did you know I was here? How did you get my gun off me? How did you even know I was coming?_ To name just a few. She smiled sharply at him.

“ You look tired, Jack. Is your rocking chair on the farm not as comfortable as you’d like?” The physical restraint it took not to roll his eyes at her…

“ I’ll ask again; What the hell are you doing here? We were supposed to meet tomorrow; In _public_.” A headache was coming on fast. Absently he wondered if he remembered to pack aspirin…

“ And _I’ll_ repeat myself, Jack. _Relax._ Your excellent reputation as celibate will not be soiled by a lady just being _alone_ with you.” Their deadpan expressions matched for just a moment before Jack gave in, pinching the bridge of his nose. When he opened his eyes again, Amélie was holding up an expensive looking phone for him to see. If he squinted, he could read it was a transaction record. The transaction record for his bank account. “ I knew you were in town and, I have to say, this room is so much more comfortable than the chairs at the cafe. Comfortable… _Private_.”

" Nervous about spilling the beans, Amélie?" He shot back, " You never were good at shaking any tails-" Her relaxed posture stiffened.

" That was one time and had _you_ stayed calm-"

" You keep your cool when a van of hopheads with AK's slams into you." He snapped, scooting out of the center of the bed while still trying to look coordinated. _Goddamn, this thing was like a sand trap._ The glock she’d stolen from him was leveled his way when he moved, slowing his scramble to a crawl.

" I _have_ , but then my blood pressure never needed a pill to function properly.” She fluttered her eyes at him coyly. “ Anything else you need a pill to get working again, or is _that_ retired, too?" It was his turn to glare, but for all the obvious irritation on his face, something relaxed inside him.

This was normal. This is what they always did… He felt a little sick at how nice the bickering was, especially with the gun staring him in the face. " Wouldn't give you the time of day to find out."

" Oh yes, I forgot; no _woman_ is good enough for you..."

For a moment they just glared at eachother, the AC unit’s humming the only thing to break the silence.

" I suppose you're right." Jack said, finally. " Better find someone more your type to do your dirty work-"

" I will have no other." She hissed, staring hard at him. As much as that should have made him feel like he somehow had the upper hand, it just alarmed him. Any job Amélie would pick out just for him was bound to be a real mess.

“ I’m listening.” He said slowly. The gun was lowered, but it brought Jack no sense of security.

“ Do you recall the Horizon Corp case?” Jack said nothing, glaring harder. She smiled. “ Of course you do. I suppose it would not be a stretch then for you to remember _Keith Ferguson_ … Code named: _Reaper_?” His nose tried to retract into his face in disgust.

“ What about him?” Amélie reached down next to her, keeping her eyes trained on him while she clicked open a smooth case. She tossed an envelope at him fast enough he almost didn’t catch it.  
  
“ You will be happy to hear Mr. Ferguson is not doing so well. His usefulness has run out and the _wrong_ kind of people are looking for him...” She stood up from the chair, sauntering over to the drawn curtains while he opened the envelope. Inside were various pictures. Mugshots mostly of a dangerous looking character with alternating hairstyles and facial hair. He tossed them aside. That face he needed no picture to remember. Surprisingly, there were two more pictures in the bottom of the envelope. They were small, maybe meant for a wallet, and most certainly weren’t mugshots.

They looked like school yearbook photos.  
  
A girl with bright pink hair on a half shaved head was the first he fished out. Her eyes were huge and a blue that reminded him of his mother’s, though his mother never had a nose stud or three rings through her ear. Jack had a hard time pinning down her age through the makeup and pinched smile, but he guessed maybe ten. He flipped over the picture, noting one word scribbled in tight cursive.  
  
_Sombra_

The next photo was of a kid who looked like he was maybe a week shy of puberty. Skinny and scrappy with a bandage on his cheek and freckles coating his nose. The boy was smiling hugely, though it looked far too uncomfortable to be real, nevermind the missing teeth. A mop of brown hair that looked like it might have eaten a comb almost covered his eyes completely.

Something grouchy that sounded suspiciously like his father told him the boy needed a buzz cut and a good meal. He flipped the photo over.  
  
_Jesse_

“ Ferguson will be in Indianapolis in two days. The children will be traveling with him-”  
  
“ I don’t kill kids.” Jack bit out, stuffing all the pictures back into the envelope. “ As much as I’d like to crack Ferguson’s head-” Amélie scoffed.  
  
“ Oh, _please._ Do you really think _I_ would hire a hitman? _Me?”_ She looked genuinely insulted. “ I don’t know which is worse; you insinuating I’d need help killing someone, or you insinuating I’d hire someone like _you_ to kill _anyone_.”  
  
“ What are you asking, then?” He skipped feeling stung to get to the point. “ Since I’m not gunning anyone down.” Sour was a good word for her face.

“ Ferguson and the children; they are currently being transferred across the country as part of their relocation in the witness protection program-" Jack stiffened.

 _" What?”_  
  
“ Let me _finish._ ” She hissed. “ They are meant to switch trains in Chicago. I have arranged for their stop to be skipped. They will be coming here instead… Where you will retrieve them.” Jack didn’t say anything. Amélie peeked out of the curtains at the city below, continuing. “ You will take them somewhere safe. Your home. A relative’s. Out of state. I do not care. Just take them somewhere no one will find them and keep them there until I tell you otherwise.”

When she looked back, Jack had narrowed his eyes at her. “ What are you getting out of this?” He almost flinched when she leveled the gun at him, disengaging the safety with a click.  
  
“ You will agree or I will kill you. Now.” He didn’t doubt for a second she meant it. Amélie didn’t make idle threats. There was a chance she’d shoot him before he made his decision, just out of spite, but he was already gambling with his life.

 _Why not go for broke?_  
  
“ What do _I_ get out of this?” Perfectly shaped eyebrows kicked up at that, her voice betraying her annoyance.

“ I thought it was made clear; you _owe_ me.” Jack shrugged.  
  
“ Yeah, but I owe you _a lot_. How much is this going to pay off? I need to know if I’m gonna get another call in a week while I’m _babysitting_...” He could see her fingers twitch around his gun and he swallowed reflexively.  
  
“ … All of it.” She said softly. It was Jack’s turn to look surprised.  
  
“ What?”  
  
“ All debt. Paid in full. Yes or no?” He stared. She showed nothing, which was more telling than any expression she could have pulled.

 _All of it. All at once. He’d owe her_ _**nothing** _ _…._

And all he had to do was take in a murderer and two kids… Fucking _Keith Ferguson_ of all people. Jack could almost feel his ulcer ripping itself open again. The answer was no. No amount of debt was worth being locked in a house with _that man_ for any amount of time… most especially if he couldn’t kill him with his _bare hands._

Images of the two kids floated up in his mind. They were certainly young enough to be Ferguson’s, though they looked nothing like him. Why he’d even have kids was beyond Jack. What _decent human_ _being_ would drag kids into that mess? Not that Ferguson had ever been decent… not in the end. Jack didn’t have a family of his own _to this day_ because even his retired life was a risky mess he’d drag no one into...

 _Yeah, that’s the reason._ He grimaced.

Point being; the idea of two kids getting drug into whatever hole that shitbag dug for himself was not exactly easy to swallow. Looking down the barrel of his own gun wasn’t helping either.

_What choice did he really have?_

He sighed. “ I’ll do it.”

Amélie’s smile told him that was the wrong answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple things before we go:
> 
> As always, you can get updates on how the next chapters are coming, plot hints, and general Overwatch things over on my tumblr: Edgedads76.tumblr.com  
> Shout out to reaper76headcanons.tumblr.com for supporting and spreading the word about my fic! You guys are too sweet!

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Overwatch or anyone attached to it.


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